


The Rising of Will Graham

by ADarkDemise



Category: Hannibal (TV), In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, But he comes back as a zombie?, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Corpses, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Murder, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Rising (In the Flesh), Vomiting, Will dies in mizumono
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27915037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADarkDemise/pseuds/ADarkDemise
Summary: Will dies in mizumono, but what he doesn't expect is to come back to life, kicking and fighting, with a sudden hunger for the brains of people and he realises something is very wrong. At least now he can relate to Hannibal right?aka the Into The Flesh au that no one asked for
Relationships: Matthew Brown & Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I'm so sorry for this mess in advance, this is my first time posting a fic and I'm writing as I go along so updates will be likely irregular. Also I did not beta this and probably should have so apologies again for any mistakes in advance.

An earthy tang fills his mouth, it's suffocating, and the darkness winds around him. A sudden panic rears its ugly head and Will is panting for breath, kicking and shouting but no noise can escape. _Where the hell am I?_ his thought process seems to be fine but the sheer weight on top of him is hard to fight off. He needs air and he needs it now. The more he struggles, the more the earth begins to give, painfully slowly, but easing nevertheless. He eventually begins to be able to claw his way through, his fingernails filling up with the dirt and grime as he digs. After what feels like an eternity, Will manages to break through to the surface, bright white light flooding its way into his vision, causing him to squint while momentarily enjoying the warmth of the light. _How long has it been?_ Will finds himself asking as he manages to push aside more of the soil, and finally dragging himself up onto the soft and slightly damp grass. He finds himself running his fingers across the blades, just enjoying the feeling with the sun beating down on him. And then he looks back down at the hole he was in, and his eyes find themselves drifting to a small rock with careful engravings on it. 

HERE LIES WILL GRAHAM 

A LOSS THROUGH BETRAYAL

Will traces the engravings with his fingers and looks up from the stone to the house in front of him and his mind wonders subconsciously about what could have happened for him to end up in a ditch. Though he doesn’t ponder long before he feels a sharp pain in his abdomen, a sharp stab twisting its way through his flesh, and suddenly he isn't in the garden anymore. He is inside, on the floor he is calling out a name, but as soon as he is there it is gone, his surroundings back. It may have been just a moment, but Will feels the effects of it in full force, his heart hammering against his chest, breath heaving. At some point he must have collapsed back to the floor if his white knuckled grip on the engraved stone is any indication. Will looks back to the house and focuses on the details of it to ground him. The house itself seems to be abandoned but in good shape, patches of ivy winding up around it, the once well kept garden enclosed with tall fences, now overgrown and brimming with wildlife. He finds himself running through a grounding technique he was once taught in another life, _My name is Will Graham. I just woke up in a ditch. The grass is soft._

He soon realises that he doesn’t know the answers to the grounding technique. He doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know the time, but it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. The pain in his abdomen still remains, snarling and snapping, and Will realises he is hungry, ravenous. He finally reaches a calm state and manages to stand up, his limbs stiff with lack of use and as he stretches he hears some concerning cracking sounds, but no pain. He gradually makes his way over towards the house, the long grass tickling the palms of his hands as he brushes the plants as he walks past them. When he reaches the side of the house, he finds himself running his hands across the bumpy brickwork, feeling the indents of the groves rhythmically as he continues his path towards the front of the house. It is more of a small cottage really, the area seems rural and isolated and Will finds himself smiling at that, because it is really perfect for him. All he needs is his dogs. Will finds himself tumbling down a rabbit hole internally as he panics about his dogs, his family. He has to find them, and quickly, he has no idea how long he has been abandoned and he has to make sure they are ok. With a new determination in his step, Will walks quicker around to the front, having to clamber over a gate to reach the long windy road that leads up the house. As he wanders over to the front door, he notices the door is open slightly, and he finds this curious. He approaches the door slowly and carefully, listening for any movement, but he is met with only silence. He tentatively pushes the door slightly, just enough for him to slip through and into the house. 

To begin with, as Will takes a cautious step forwards, the corridor is pitch black with Will having to strain his eyes to see anything. But as he guides himself with his back against the wall, his eyes slowly begin to adjust. He can make out a couple of doors to his right and one straight in front of where he is facing, this one however the door is wide open to contrast with the others which are closed. _Must not be anything valuable in those rooms then if the doors are closed, someone clearly robbed this house, whoever it once belonged to._ He thinks to himself as he takes a step closer to the inviting space ahead of him, the room lit slightly more from the daylight pouring in from the sliver of curtain left open. As Will stands in the doorframe, he looks into the room and begins to form a profile of the person who once lived here basing his deductions on the personal items in the room, and house overall. Ignoring the pain gnawing at him for now, Will focuses on the room in front of him, a living room based on the two seat sofa against the back wall, with a coffee table in front of it. His eye draws him to a small fireplace to the right of the room, opposite the window, where two leather chairs sat, layers of dust the only indication that time has passed since their last use. There seems to be a cabinet in the corner of the room, where there was once a series of alcoholic beverages stored, now of course the supplies have been stolen leaving only the empty shell of what once was. It seems to Will that this person preferred the company of others in a homely atmosphere, but there is something off about the place, like it hasn’t really been lived in much. A temporary stay perhaps. 

Once Will has finished his visual observation of the room, he then sets out in search of some food to appease the calls of his stomach. He goes to the liquor cabinet first, though he didn't have much hope for it, which is soon proven to be true as all that is left is empty bottles and glasses. Will picks up a whiskey tumbler and inspects it carefully. It seems well made, not cheap, the glass solid and with an intricate design suggesting someone has the luxury to splash out on such items that not many would notice the effort. Turning the glass idly in his hands, Wills' thoughts turn to conversations shrouded in metaphors, the warmth of a fireplace, and some good whiskey with a companion as they chat into the night. _Hannibal_ Will thinks and he feels a twinge in his abdomen again, his hunger once again reminding him of the real reason he is in here in the first place. Reluctantly, Will places the tumbler back and turns to the face the rest of the room, scanning idly for anywhere that hasn’t already been pillaged. With a sigh, He walks out towards the corridor again to investigate the other rooms, maybe a kitchen would have some supplies-some canned food maybe- for will to keep his hunger at bay at least for the time being. 

Though, as Will looks back down the corridor, something glints in the light from the front door and invites Will to come closer and investigate. As he approaches he realises it is a mirror, but that simple observation isn’t what halts Will in his tracks completely, a gasp stealing his breath away as he sees the shocked reflection staring back at him. His morbid curiosity draws him closer, his clothes while initially covered in dirt, are also blood stained, a huge gash across his abdomen left red and sore looking but painless. But as Will raises his hand to touch the mirror, he stares into his eyes, so unlike anything he has seen before in anyone, he sees nothing, just dead, his star-shaped pupils contrasting against the pale blue nearly white iris. Will was never particularly tanned in the first place, but his skin is now sickly pale, like that he has witnessed many times at crime scenes, as dead bodies. _Am I dead?_ Will thinks to himself, a fresh wave of panic hitting him, he should be dead right? Suddenly Will is filled with a rage that persuades his right hand to be brought up to the mirror hastily, a solid punch delivering straight to the centre, the mirror shattering, his face distorting as the shards fly out and to the floor. Will backs away, noting that his fist is not painful, he runs his hands through his hair and tugs at his matted unruly curls, his world crashing down on him in this strange place with only fleeting memories for company.

He doesn’t notice the tears streaming from his eyes at first, only when a small wet patch forms on his shirt, torn and broken, not unlike himself he thinks bitterly before turning to his right and turning the doorknob into a kitchen. Perfect. He rummages desperately through the cupboards, finding little, no perishables anywhere, which was to be expected really, but then he spots a single tin which he eagerly reaches for and pulls out, trying to inspect the label, though it is faded and unreadable. With a groan, Will reaches for a knife from the knife block and begins to rip into the can. Once he removes the sharp attempt at a circle from the can, Will smiles to himself at the unharmed beans that are there and he has never been so happy to see a can of stupid beans. With no hope that any of the heating appliances will work, Will simply brings the tin to his mouth and drinks the cold beans down, grimacing slightly at the coolness sliding down his throat, lightly chewing on the beans. But soon, Will realises that his stomach does not agree with him that this is good food and he finds himself gripping the counter tightly with one hand and choking up the beans he just managed to find, but it is a thick dark substance that joins the beans as he vomits it up. This is not right, not right at all. Will thinks, bringing his head to the counter (not where he vomited) and taking a shaky breath in as he tries to deal with the emotions flowing through him. He settles with frustration as his hunger has not subsided and he has no idea how to get sustenance if eating food doesn’t fix his problem. 

Though Will suddenly has an idea, perhaps he needs meat so he raises his head off the counter and swivels around to face the fridge freezer. He reaches down to the lower part, where the freezer is and prays to some sort of being that he finds some meat in there. With bated breath, Will flings the door open and stares at empty shelves, all hope falling drastically in that moment. But as he gets closer, Will notices that the freezer compartment seems to be too small for the size of the fridge freezer. Cautiously, he pokes the back wall of the freezer and gasps as it gives slightly. He then proceeds to give it another shove for good measure and it collapses, revealing a single vacuum-packed meat packet. Idly, Will wonders if his cursed body would accept raw meat but as he rips open the packet, his mouth waters and he doesn’t even stop to consider it as something instinctual brings him to tear into the meat, almost swallowing it whole with the desperation his body feels from the scent of the meat. Will waits for a few moments, half expecting the food to come vomiting straight back up and out of his mouth again, but nothing happens and while he is still mildly hungry, at least he has something to go off in feeding himself in the future. 

His hunger now partially at bay, Will sets off in actually investigating the rest of the cottage, starting once again his observations at surface level. The kitchen looks well made, with a good size oven with a grill and an island counter (now covered in black sickly vomit). Clearly someone liked to cook, which explains the carefully hidden meat store in the freezer. It must be high quality meat, something hunted themselves perhaps, maybe venison, or rabbit. Not that Will could tell from the rate that he ended up consuming it, and raw nonetheless. Though as he wanders over to the window and draws back the curtains, something catches the light in the reflection and Will turns to investigate. On the side of the island, there is a piece of tattered tape and as Will bends down to get a closer look, he can make out only a blue and white stripe with the letter ‘P’ written on it. Will’s immediate thought is police tape from a crime scene, but it doesn’t quite add up with the overall feel of the place. Though it certainly would explain why it has been abandoned. Not many people like to live in a house that was once a crime scene. 

Standing up again, Will begins to feel the beginning of tiredness seeping into his bones, the stress and trauma from his few hours of being awake taking a toll on him. So he makes his way over to the corridor once again and enters the final room, which he assumes is the bedroom and as he opens the door, relief settles onto his shoulders as a large king-size bed greets him. With the curtains already drawn, Will walks over to the bed and settles down at the side, looking at the vague outlines of another door in front of him. _Ensuite, how fancy_ Will thinks absentmindedly as he lays back, at soft sigh escaping him as he closes his eyes for a moment. The silence is peaceful and it prompts Will to get up and readjust so he is comfortable. So, despite feeling slightly guilty about ruining the bed sheets with his grimy state, Will settles into the bed, pulling the duvet over himself and curling up into a ball, his arms subconsciously protecting his abdomen wound. He closes his eyes again, and he wades into the quiet of the stream, drifting into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream sequence and drama coming your way!

_ Standing in the fast flowing stream, the sunlight glistening in the reflection of the surface of the water, is Will. He has his fishing gear and pole, waiting patiently for his catch. As he scans the environment around him, a snap and rustle from the bushes catches his attention, his head snapping to the direction the offending noise comes from. Squinting his eyes suspiciously, Will focuses on the treeline, watching carefully for any hints of movement. After a few moments, just as Will turns to refocus on his fishing line he sees it. A flash of dark movement.  _

_ And then Will is running, his feet harshly slamming down against the floor with every step he takes, following the darkness that is always somehow just out of reach. When he stops suddenly, panting for breath, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow, he finally looks around himself. The forest is so dense he can hardly see his hand in front of him, but when he brings his hand up to his face he watches horrified as the skin peels away, rotting and decaying in front of him. In a panic Will scrubs at his hands, desperate for it to stop- but it keeps on peeling away, paling and becoming a sickly grey.  _

_ He looks down then, and he is standing in a pool of blood, his blood he realises as he can do nothing but watch as gallons of the stuff pours out of his abdomen. He grips the wound tightly, to try to stem the bleeding but it keeps flowing, more than he could have ever imagined a body could contain. He begins to choke, the blood now coming out of his mouth. He sputters and falls to his knees, the blood absorbing into his jeans, the pool of it now the same height that the river once was. He looks up in desperation, pleading to someone or something to help him get out of this mess, but all he hears are the soft words whispered into his ear “it can all go away if you just put your head back. Close your eyes and wade into the quiet of the stream.” So he obeys, he closes his eyes and lets the quiet sound of his blood filling and pooling around him be the sounds of his stream as he leans back and submerges himself into the maroon depths. His conscious thoughts dwindling as he falls down further and further until- _

He wakes up with a start, lurching out of the bed, panting heavily and heaving for breath, the sheets are soaking in sweat. All he remembers is his acceptance of oblivion, his peeling skin he was bleeding out. _Did this happen to me? Why did this happen to me?_ As he looks down at his hands, he flinches at the sight, the same sickly pale he saw in his-his what? dream? Nightmare? Vision? Will didn’t know, it seems ever since he awoke he didn't know what was happening to him. He hasn’t asked to be awake and back and- he has to calm down. His breathing has become more erratic the more he has been thinking and he needs to stop and focus on the task at hand. He needs to survive. He needs to find his dogs.

The soft grumble, now becoming familiar, from his stomach is what finally prompts him to get up and move out of his sticky bed. He slowly meanders over to the window and pulls open the curtains in one smooth movement of his arm, he leans against the window sill and he peers out across the dark landscape. There aren’t many lights due to the surrounding fields, but Will can make out some distant lights, presumably from other houses. Where there could be food, more meat to satisfy his hunger. The scenery makes for a good distraction, especially when Will keeps his mind away from what may lurk in the darkness, a subconscious echo of his nightmare. He eventually pulls his body away from the view and makes his way to the bathroom to try scrounge for any more supplies before he finally leaves this place. 

When he lightly pushes the door to the bathroom open, he avoids looking in the mirror and instead turns to the cabinet opposite it, swinging it open with more force than he expects, startling himself with the sharp bang breaking the silence. There isn’t all too much in there, some standard pain medications and first aid items, but nothing of any real use or interest. Will takes the bandages, plasters and pain meds, scooping them up into his arms and placing them onto the side table. He looks back down at the state of himself, at the grunge and dirt and sweat soaked mess of clothes he is wearing and opts for a wardrobe change. 

Leaving the supplies for now, he leans against the wall to take off his socks, leaving them abandoned in the bathroom as he re-enters the bedroom, the soft carpet now cushioning his feet as he approaches the wardrobe. The clothes nestled safely in the wardrobe are plastic-wrapped, which Will furrows his brows at for a moment, wondering why they would be left like this. He then shrugs and reaches in for a classic jeans and shirt combination, unwrapping the clothes with the speed of a child at Christmas unwrapping presents. He brings the jeans to his body and notes that they would likely be too big for him, but not by much and he really didn’t feel like staying in his current clothes, so he would just have to deal with it as he really can’t afford to be picky anyway. He has more pressing matters to worry about. 

Peeling his jeans from his own legs is a challenge in itself, the material sticking to his skin almost as if it has been glued down. But after some wriggling and a lot more effort than should have been necessary, he manages to remove them with a sigh of relief. Will looks down at his pale legs and pulls a face at the colour, the same as his hands he wonders if there is any blood circulation at all, though he seems to feel as if he is breathing and operating as normal. But of course it could be phantom sensations. The thought alone causes will to shudder and he considers showering off the grime that seems to be sunk into his skin, to see if it would wash away or if it really is a part of him. _It would be worth a shot_ , he thinks as he removes his jacket and shirt, abandoning them unceremoniously on the floor before returning to the bathroom where he removes his underwear last. 

He hops into the shower and turns the temperature knob, hoping that the water and heating still works. After the showerhead spits and struggles the water finally flows through, cold at first but slowly heating up with time. As the lukewarm water pummels his back, a small sigh escapes Will's lips, his eyes closing as he relaxes. He soon opens his eyes again, reminders of his nightmare creeping back into his skull, so he distracts himself as he looks for something to wash with. He roams the shower and spots some body wash, half used, and grabs it pouring a generous amount of the liquid onto his hands. Where there was once a strong scent to the soap, it is now but a faint echo, which Will gets occasional wafts of as he spreads and lathers his body with it. And if he scrubs too hard at his dirty skin, no one would know-not even Will-as he feels no pain where he should have. Though once he has scrubbed enough to satisfy his standards, he washes off and turns the water off again, his body left dripping. 

He dries himself on a fluffy towel and gets into the new clothes, feeling fresh and more alive after a shower, despite his deathly glow. He pockets the supplies that he left momentarily in the bathroom and he makes his way back out the bedroom and down the corridor towards the front door, still left ajar from the previous day. When he makes it to the doorstep and the cold from the concrete climbs into his feet, Will realises he has no socks or shoes on and simply looks down at his bare feet and wiggles his toes. Though the cold is a little uncomfortable, Will finds he can't bring himself to care, his body has held out this long and with the painless experience he figures that bare feet walking shouldn't be that bad. So he sets off towards the direction of the lights in the distance, his bare feet crunching down on the gravel road. 

While he walks, Will takes a moment to assess his observations since he became conscious again the day before. Combining the ditch that he crawled out of with the etched stone and his overall decayed and pale appearance he comes to the conclusion that he once died or should be dead at least. Except he isn't and he doesn't remember how or when he died. Or why he is alive now. Though these questions seem far too uncomfortable to be thinking about at the moment, something his body seems to agree with him if the sharp abdomen pain is anything to go by. So he turns his thoughts instead to the mystery house. He assumes he must have died on the site somewhere and his body buried and possibly abandoned by the potential murderer. Which would explain the unlived state of the areas that hadn't been raided. Coupled with the police tape it would make a solid theory. Though when the police came and investigated the stone would have been unetched. Which would mean that the murder came back. _But why?_

However his thoughts are interrupted by the blinding lights of a car approaching him. He quickly runs over to the field and continues to walk, though he is now a significant amount closer to the lights, no longer distant specs and are now orbs of light, some from houses and some from street lamps. He can make out the rough shape of a church spire that contrasts the illuminated town, a sharp peak of darkness. The grass and mud of the field is a much more pleasant feeling than the sharp jagged gravel ripping through his feet, so Will takes time to appreciate the change, the break that he has given his feet as he treks towards the light. He eventually reaches the edge of the town though it is not as quiet as he expects, there is some shouting and gunshots which puts Will on edge as he investigates the area. 

He approaches the building closest to him, careful to keep low and to the shadows to not be spotted by anyone. As he peeks his head around the corner of the it, of all the things he expects to see, he does not expect to see two bodies, one with the skin of the forehead peeled away and the other decayed with a bullet through the head. It does not go unnoticed that he himself shares similarities with the decayed corpse but Will simply puts it to the back of his mind, and makes a mental note to ensure he doesn’t get seen by any people wielding guns. Something primal in Will seems to have reared its ugly head as he looks at the bodies and he finds himself focussing on the body of the peeled forehead and his stomach grumbles. _What the hell?_ It seems his body doesn’t seem to care what meat he eats, apparently that includes humans. He shudders at the thought, yet finds himself feeling nostalgic and reminded of someone. Briefly he closes his eyes to try and recall anything, only managing to remember the name he thought of yesterday- Hannibal. Will furrows his brows in confusion though as he can’t see how cannibalism and Hannibal, the man who he had companionable conversations with, fit together. He shakes his head to dismiss his distracting thoughts, instead choosing to focus on his resurfaced hunger. And while his body may be more than willing to be cannibalistic, Will’s mind and morals are against it. 

So he sets off again in hopes of finding a shop or somewhere he can acquire some meat, he crosses the street quickly to the other side, taking another passing glance at the bodies as he goes before working his way around the perimeter of the house. He notices the door is unlocked, someone seems to have rushed out- possibly the victim on the street- leaving easy access to the house, which is perfect for Will’s situation and he hurries inside, keeping low to the ground as he explores the rooms trying to find the kitchen. When he does find it, he opens the fridge and pulls out the packet of raw bacon and has no hesitation in devouring it. But as he chews and swallows the rashers, he begins to feel his body reject it once again and so he lurches forward to the sink and vomits- the same sickly black joining the bits of chewed up rasher. A burning rage begins to simmer within Will as he realises the situation he is in. He brings his hands to his eyes and pulls them down his face, groaning. _I’m gonna have to eat the fucking human flesh aren't I?_ The visions of the peeled forehead springs to Will’s mind and as ever, his reliable stomach groans at the mere thought of it. 

Reluctantly, Will returns to the front of the house and stands in the doorframe, protected by the shadows as he stares out at the corpse. He sighs deeply and squeezes his eyes shut as he mentally prepares himself for what he has to do. He quickly checks the area surrounding him for anyone and while he can hear distant shouts and screams, it remains just that- distant. And so he slowly approaches the body and kneels down next to it, grimacing. “I’m sorry” he mutters to the body as he reaches for the arm, rolling the sleeve up to reveal the flesh. He closes his eyes as he brings the arm towards his face repeatedly telling himself that _it’s just meat_ as he opens his mouth and takes a cautious bite, chewing quickly and swallowing to get it over with. But as he opens his eyes to look down at the bite, something takes over him and his body is acting of its own accord, his stomach growling louder and more aggressive than before, now sounding like a predator. All Will can do is watch in horror as he reaches towards the partially peeled forehead and rips it more with his hands before bringing his mouth to it and chewing the meat. But that isn’t the worst part- he then he brings his hands to the head and slams the skull against the concrete, the sharp crack of bones filling Will’s ears before he is reaching into the skull, pulling out the bones as he bends down and gets a mouthful of brain, his stomach no longer making the growling sounds but Will himself. 

Fortunately, Will is shocked out of the trance he was in by a gunshot ringing out far too close for comfort as he snaps his head up to lock eyes on a man- probably a farmer- with a shotgun. _Shit._ Will doesn’t even think as he gets up and runs away, strafing to dodge the bullets, towards the building he first hid behind for cover. He looks to his left as he has his back against the wall, the cover of the forest seeming like a good option. So with a quick glance to his right, he runs again to the treeline, not stopping until he is far into the cover of the woods with tall trees keeping him protected from the danger in the town. Will then leans back against one of the trees and slides down the trunk until he is sat down, his head in his hands as sobs wrack through him as his earlier actions, still fresh in his mind, replays over and over until the world fades to black and he passes out on the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok maybe I can do weekly updates because I have a need to keep writing this and its super fun


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry its so short i have been a mess this week with writing this and i would've written more today but my brain feels like spaghetti
> 
> also thank you so much everyone for the kudos and comments <3 love yall

Will wakes with a start, the loud crash of thunder bringing him to his senses and he groans and slowly opens his eyes to adjust to his surroundings. The sun is hidden behind the clouds, smothered in thick grey blankets as the rain pours down. He can still taste the tang of blood in his mouth, the complete loss of control he felt when devouring that poor person. Not being able to cope with these treacherous thoughts, Will shuts off his mind for now opting instead for making a move, the brief reminder of why he is in a forest presented with distant gunshots whispering in his head. With a small grunt he hauls himself off the ground, his limbs stiff but still working. Will doesn’t know where he is walking to, just that he is walking away from everything that haunts his consciousness despite it trying to creep into his mind with nothing else to focus on. 

He takes a deep breath and with the rhythmic pattering of rain soaking his clothes, he lets his tears fall too. Within his mind is a jumble of memories, some recent and some distant- as if he could reach out and touch them yet it remains just out of reach. As he falls into the depths of his own mind, he tries to tug at the memory far from his reach in an attempt to drown out the more recent ones and is surprised when it gives. He gets only a glimpse, something closer to the present he would guess, with whispered words of comfort repeated to him, he is held so tightly, close to another body as he drifts from reality and the world fades to black. He gasps slightly with realisation as he snaps his eyes open, his eyes beginning to refill for another round of tears. The memory- it was of his last living moments- he could feel his ragged breath, the way it felt like there was nothing left in him, how he just let go. It was so agonising, the pain of loss, and betrayal. A strangled noise makes it out of Will's mouth as he takes a gasping breath, wiping his face with the back of his hand. 

The whispering comfort from his memory swims around him as tears flow freely, he can feel the phantom sensation of the heat of another body holding him. His mind soon unravels instead to his lingering gaze on the gunned down corpse looking person, much like himself. And he grips onto the idea that he isn't the only one going through whatever this is, post death curse? The world comes back into focus, no longer a fuzzy haze, and Will manages to compose himself somewhat as he clambers through the trees. He has no idea how long he has been walking for, but as the trees part to reveal a clearing, the thought slips away. 

Before him is a field of grass, not so interesting by itself but what is on it. There's a battered jeep which first grabs his attention before he spots the campfire (now unlit) and tent. Conscious of danger, Will carefully approaches the jeep now noticing the blood splatters from the wheels- _blood everywhere in his mouth on his hands he ravenously consumes_ \- he shakes his head to dislodge the flashback but in doing so he hits his head against the metal, a thump loudly announcing his presence. He holds his breath in anticipation, but he could have saved the effort for the elbow to his head which is smoothly followed by a grip on his neck and a gun to his head. Will struggles against the arm around his neck, which would be squeezing the life out of him in any normal situation but is simply an annoyance for him now. Though he attempts a struggle he is more curious about this person and figures it can't do any harm to use this to his advantage, the gun to his head motivating him to at least try to not get shot there. And so he closes his eyes and goes limp, smiling to himself internally as he feels the grip lessen on his neck and the cool metal of the gun leaves his head. He is then being dragged, his feet brushing the floor, the grunts of exertion coming from the assailant as Will's weight is being hauled across the ground. He then is lifted and shoved into a cold metal box- presumably the boot of the jeep- where after a while he is joined by the tent rolling onto his back and the car doors closing. Will finally opens his eyes and while his eyes adjust to the dark, he settles into the boot to get comfortable for the ride ahead, as the rumble of the engine informs him that the journey has begun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am surprised I managed to grind out a decent chunk over the festivities this week but hurrah! More content! Enjoy!

While the bumps and creaks of the vehicle are loud and obnoxious, it at least distracts Will from sleeping and being vulnerable with this stranger who is potentially dangerous and has the advantage of having an actual weapon. It also keeps the nausea-inducing memories and thoughts out of his mind and grounded in reality as he formulates a plan. He can assume from the back that Will looks relatively normal with his curly hair and relatively fresh clothes. So he can be assumed to be more human and not whatever he actually is. Not-dead corpse? Cannibalistic creature? Without needing to go down that route of thinking he swiftly re-centres onto the element of surprise he has. Once the boot of the car opens, he will launch forward to attack at least to knock them unconscious before stealing the car and going- well, wherever he wants. 

As the plan settles into his mind, Will finds himself relaxing slightly, as much as he can when held captive. When Will wakes with a start from the sharp break, he realises he must have been so relaxed to have drifted off to sleep. Unease grasps him by the shoulders though only in the background, as Will prepares to pounce, squatted down with his hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation. He listens intently to the movement, the closing of the door, the soft patter of walking before the turn of keys and the unlocking mechanism. The moment the boot opens, Will jumps out at the figure, his fists clenched as he lands a punch to the face as they crash down into a heap on the floor. He wastes no time in getting the other into a headlock, tightly held to squeeze the air out of them. 

As they struggle and claw and Will's arm, he takes a look down at their face and gasps slightly in recognition. But he doesn't know where he knows them from. The wheezed out "Will Graham?" is enough for him to break the headlock and scoot backwards like a scared animal, cautious but wound up ready for hostile attack. Will scans the features of the man heaving for breath in front of him, clawing through his jumbled mind to find the connections. Disregarding the bloody face, he has small beady eyes like a predator, yet there is some softness from the recognition. The short hair seems standard so he can't quite grasp why this man knows him. Or how. 

Though soon his questions seem to only multiply when the man speaks to him, the shock registering on his face at the state of Will which causes him to flinch back slightly. "Will? You look… Awful. What happened?" At Will's silence and sceptical look he continues on "It's me, Mathew? Mathew Brown? From the BSHCI?" Again another blank look and more questions flitting through his mind "Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally insane? Well, I broke out eventually but shit seems to have gone out of control 'round here. We should stick together. Y'know two hawks" with the last sentence his eyes glitter, a smirk on his face as he gets up and offers a hand to Will. He eyes it sceptically for a few moments before caving in and taking the hand, noticing how the contact lingers more than strictly necessary. 

While he will have to wait for his memory to come back to him, the obvious admiration for Will himself is something he can at least work with. Though the reference to hawks sticks in his mind and he makes a note to come back to it. It’s now that he takes in his surroundings, the small shack with wood piles leaning against the wall, the grass flattened in front of the small door where frequent access to the house-and recent-has occurred. He turns around in a slow circle, noting the dirt track with tyre marks enclosed by tall trees which dims the sunlight, filtering through the thick leaves. It seems a nice spot to live, isolated yet something nags at Will about the place. It doesn’t seem to fit this escaped criminal, he is too jittery to be stuck in one place long. 

Feeling the burning gaze, Will finally turns his attention to the man in question, staring directly at Will. _Probably looking at my disgusting rotting state, at what a monster I am_ he darkly considers, raising his own eyes to the man's- _Mathew’s_ -chin and stopping there, memorizing the slightly too long stubble instead of meeting those dark eyes. The small gesture that Mathew makes is enough to get Will moving again, finally unrooting from his place and following after him, towards the entrance. As Will slowly makes his way over, he is apparently slow enough that the other man leans against the house, arms crossed, eyebrow raised as silent inquisition. But Will is suddenly no longer in the forest, he is separated by bars where the same man smiles in white uniform, keys in hand as he paces around. He is speaking but Will can’t hear. He just watches and the last thing he hears is the echoing within his skull _“You and me are like hawks, Mr Graham”._

The world reforms around him as he blinks rapidly and stumbles backwards, looking back towards Mathew who has light concern etched into his features and as he shifts to move towards Will he shouts out suddenly “NO! No. Stay- stay there. Please” He runs his hands through his hair shakily gripping onto the curls like it's a lifeline, arranging the jumbled information in his brain. It tries to fit together but it's all wrong, it doesn’t make sense- _why would he do that?_ He brings one hand to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shoves the thoughts back down. _Mathew Brown_. He admires Will, has killed for him. Those beady eyes burn into his brain. A predator, a hawk. A small smirk finds its way to his own mouth, mirroring Mathew from his memory. He takes a shaky breath out and makes his way over to Mathew, a reassuring smile that really doesn’t feel natural thrown towards him. It’s enough to stop any questions that are probably burning on the tip of his tongue for now as the door is opened for Will and a muttered “after you” offered as Will brushes against the doorframe, a small thanks quietly spoken. 

The shack is nothing particularly special, just one room with a kitchen, double bed, a small fireplace, sofa and a cornered off toilet that offers very little privacy. _It's like a prison_ , Will thinks solemnly to himself before sudden realisation dawns on him. Shit. He’s a hostage. And this is what he is stuck with. The door clicks quietly, distantly as Will has mindlessly wandered into the centre of the room, leaving Mathew behind him. At this reminder of another person’s presence, Will turns to face him and attempts to school his face into something neutral. Whether it works or not is left a mystery as Mathew just walks over and dumps a bag onto the sofa- _when did he get that from the jeep?_ \- Before opening his arms and turning slightly, gesturing to the room “Welcome home” Mathew simply says, his eyes wrinkled in amusement. _God this is going to be insufferable._ Will throws a smile his way, half hearted though it is, at least he is free to exist by himself without being tethered to the other man in any physical way. _That would be torturous._ He finds himself shivering at the thought and apparently the other man is watching him so intently that he picks up on this small movement, and there is an old throw being offered to him. As unnerving as it is, the gesture is sweet and Will genuinely smiles a little at this, gratefully taking the throw and wrapping it around himself, despite not feeling cold. 

He tries to relax a bit as he paces around the room, organising his thoughts into some vague order, now left unsure what to really do with himself. He is aware that Mathew is pottering around the room, doing menial tasks. He partially unpacks his bag which is now left open on the sofa, some wood is brought in for the fire presumably and the clinking of metal pans and cans signals food. It is now that Will notices the lack of his familiar friend, his loud stomach, now left quiet and dormant. For the time being at least. Another issue that has to be tackled: his particular hunger can be stated in only a few ways which currently poses a big problem for Will’s survival. And mental state. Yet, Will finds his mind drifting to the man preoccupied opening a can with a pocket knife, the blood on the tyres of the jeep telling a story about the man. He’s done it once before, not that Will can remember what it was even for but still. This time it’s for his survival and would he be ok with that? He pauses in his pacing, his fingers finding the edge of the throw and picking at the fraying strands.

He huffs, unintentionally catching the attention of the knife-wielding Mathew. He gestures to the can with his knife, Will following the movement intently, an uneasy question spluttering from his mouth “Do you uh- do you want some? Or uh need it? Y’know no big deal if not. I get it. I’ve seen it.” He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal, but Will can see the discomfort in the tightness of his shoulders as he goes back to the task, waiting patiently for Will’s response. 

He closes his eyes tightly as he curtly replies that “No, thank you I’m fine” the _“for now”_ left unspoken and hanging in the air. He grits his teeth tightly and finally takes a seat, his restlessness now channelling into twirling the threads around his fingers, the soft and tight alternation grounding him into reality. He doesn’t expect to find himself being truthful when he answers the unasked question that Will knows is circling around the other man’s brain. “I don’t know what happened. I woke up, nearly got shot and got kidnapped. It’s a lot.” A lot is really the understatement of the century. “Um, where are we anyway?” He asks Mathew's back, watching as the now opened can has been emptied into the pan and now heating up. He doesn’t get an answer straight away, the other man clearly debating how much to tell Will and opting for the option most likely to get him to stick around, seeing as he thinks they are so alike. 

“Well, not too far from where I uh, picked you up. About say 50 miles? Not much civilization ‘round this area.” The beans- and sausage- Will notes as Mathew joins him on the sofa, slumping down and shoving his bag to the floor, are shovelled ungraciously into his mouth, despite being steaming hot. Must be hungry work being on the run, not too dissimilar to his own situation and strangely enough Will finds it comforting not being alone. He leans back and closes his eyes as he tries to think back over the few days to gauge his whereabouts. Though no such luck in finding any signs, carefully skipping over the less savoury memories and pondering as to whether Mathew has a map in his bag or jeep. Mulling this over in his head, he concludes that either way he will have to earn Mathew’s trust in order for them to be on an even standing. 

He doesn’t mean to drift off into unconsciousness as he wades through his thoughts, each one a branch of a tree that reforms and grows, expanding and becoming a consuming forest. He dreams of stags and hawks, they circle around him observing and analysing. 7 happy dogs bundling up to him by the fire on a cold winter night, then screaming pigs. When he startles awake, he is surprised to find himself alone, though another blanket has found its way to cover his body, even tucked in at the side of the sofa. As his eyes adjust to the dark, empty room he sighs and rubs his temples, an attempt to chase the darkness from his mind away. Instead of going away though, it just seems to back into the recesses though not completely, still lurking in the background. Waiting. Will gets up and peels back a curtain from one of the few windows, leaning against the wall, watching and waiting for his roommate to return from his night-time activities. He loses himself in the natural environment outside, imagining the creatures of the night, hunters and prey. 


End file.
